


These Boots Were Made for Walking

by mcfair_58



Category: Bonanza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27479128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcfair_58/pseuds/mcfair_58
Summary: Adam contemplates the consequences of his little brother's scandalous romance with Julia Bullette.
Kudos: 1





	These Boots Were Made for Walking

These Boots Are Made for Walking

Pa was stoic. Hoss, troubled. And Little Joe? Well, the boy was in a world of his own.   
Me?   
I was contemplating my work boots.  
Now, I know that’s a curious thing for a man to do when he’s sitting in a carriage that’s part of a funeral train of carriages, each one sporting a black ribbon, but I couldn’t help it. My brown boots were strangely out of place.   
Sort of like we were.   
You could see it in the faces of the residents of Virginia City – the ones we passed as we rolled down the main street of town. The first was Old Jake, a once-upon-a-time prospector turned town drunk and most times gossip. Oh, he’d had a hay-day the last few weeks spreading all kinds of tales. Well, we’d hoped they were tales. Rumors, of course, always contain a grain of truth and it was a truth that none of us – especially Pa – wanted to face.   
A bump in our path jars the carriage. It makes me straighten up and look at my brother, Hoss. Even though he’s driving, he’s got his head down. I’ve noticed he and Joe haven’t said a word to each other since we left the ranch house. I don’t think Hoss knows what to say. From the day Marie placed Little Joe in middle brother’s arms, the two of them have been inseparable. Or they were.   
Until she came along.   
Thoughts of her bring my mind back to the ride we’re on. I glance at my Pa. ‘Stoic’ I called him. ‘Long-suffering’ might be a better word. I remember the first time Pa held Little Joe. Marie’s boy took one look at our father, screwed his face up, and started insisting on his own way. When he was old enough to talk, Joe explained that the reason he insisted on his own way was because he was always right. He was right when he walked into the corral at age four and tried to ride one of the horses barebacked and nearly got killed. He was right when, at twelve, he left school in the middle of a blizzard because the teacher told him to do something he felt was unfair and nearly froze to death before he got home.   
And he was right when he fell in love with a courtesan nearly twice his age who ended up being murdered by her former lover.   
Little Joe’s the talk of the town. Even though the faces of the church ladies we roll past are sympathetic, it’s a pretense. They don’t care about Joe or the fact that the woman he loved – a woman who practically saved the city from a plague single-handed – is dead. All they care about is that the high-and-mighty Cartwrights have been brought low by scandal; that Little Joe – Ben Cartwright’s ‘darling’ boy who can do no wrong – did wrong and brought disgrace to his family. Just like they knew he would.   
After all, as Old Jake and the ladies have made quite clear to anyone who will listen, the blood of Marie de Marigny runs in Joe’s veins.   
My gaze returns to my brother. Joe’s head is bowed. He’s hurting. Partly because Julia is dead, but mostly because he’s been forced to ride in this carriage along with the rest of us. It was Pa who made the decision to go to Julia’s funeral. He said we couldn’t hide – that the Cartwright name was important and we needed to hold our heads high in spite of everything that had happened.   
We didn’t know Little Joe was listening until we heard the door slam.  
The thought of what came next returns my eyes to my boots. Pa gave me quite a look when I jumped into the carriage wearing them – mud and all. Probably not what he had in mind when it came to making the ‘right’ impression. I imagine a few of the townsfolk think I did it on purpose, that it’s a subtle way to express my disapproval of the woman of the night who bedded my little brother.   
Little do they know.  
I knew where Joe would be, of course. It was where he always goes – to the lake to talk to his mama. What I didn’t know was that he’d grabbed one of Pa’s brandy bottles on the way out and drunk nearly half of it before I caught up with him. Joe didn’t want to talk. He didn’t have to. I knew what he was feeling. It’s not like I’ve made it to twenty-nine without a broken heart. I considered telling him that the pain would become a memory in time – and maybe even a good one – but I knew he wouldn’t listen. My seventeen-year-old brother was too young, too innocent –   
Too sure that he was right.  
So instead, I used guilt as mortar and laid it thick between the bricks of family and father, and convinced him he had to go back – and to the funeral. After that, I got the kid up on his horse and made sure he stayed in the saddle. When we got home, I hustled him in through the kitchen door and then up the stairs without being seen so I could clean him up. About ten minutes later I walked him outside. Little Joe wobbled a bit, but managed to climb into the carriage by himself. Pa looked sideways at me as I climbed in after him.  
I gave him a smile.  
Now, ordinarily, I’m not much of a rebel. I weigh everything carefully and decide whether or not it’s worth the risk. My eyes return to my little brother as he rises and prepares to face the music. Joe never thought about the consequences, or the town drunk and his gossip, or the approving disapproving church ladies.   
All he thought about was a woman he loved.  
The smile returns as I disembark and walk toward the grave. The eyes of the oh-so-proper citizens of Virginia City are on me – as my plain, ordinary work boots covered in mud pass silent judgment on their sea of oppressive black hypocrisy.  
Pa may not.   
But Joe and Julia understand.  
_____  
END


End file.
